Thursday, 15 December 2016


A UKIP Christmas yet to come...

Christmas 2018. After Farage was rejected by the UK government as ambassador to the US in 2016, Trump requested that he be Prime Minister. A build up of US forces in the UK aimed at tackling Syria turned out to be something else altogether and with only a few ships (most without working engines or fuel), an army that could barely fill an average football stadium, an air force bereft of its best planes after the previous government had sold them to the US for a fiver and no friends in Europe anymore, the UK was in no position to resist. The nightmare had come true, UKIP, backed by Trump, was in charge.

It was freezing. The central heating wasn't working and there was no-one to fix it. Gary could have paid to find someone who could do it but he needed to keep the money for food. You could still get hold of the basics, and even something more fancy if you knew who to speak to, and he needed to do this as he wasn't just feeding himself anymore. Gary had always wanted a family and now he had two: a Hindu couple and their child and a Muslim family of four. Like many others in the UK, he was hiding them in his house.


After UKIP took over people were worried but the puppet government had insisted that all it wanted was a return to 'British values' like going to church without fear of retribution from Muslims, going to the pub without fear of retribution from Muslims, flying flags of St George and union flags without fear of retribution from Muslims or having them confiscated by the police. UKIP collaborators had many stories of how they were prevented from going about their normal lives during the days of rule by woolly left-wingers like David Cameron and Theresa May. However, things turned out to be more sinister and after a night of looting of Asian shops and smashing their windows, a programme of rounding up Asian and black people had commenced. There was no need to round up the Poles, Romanians, Czechs, etc, they disappeared as soon as Farage was installed and the unchecked 'visits' from the thugs began.

UKIP appears to be quite keen on gas.
Like so many others Gary was horrified. He lived on his own and though he was far from brave he knew he had to do something. Two of his friends at work were affected, Aziz and Atul. They came in each morning, faces bruised from another beating either from a raid on their houses or just an attack in the street. And each day there were fewer of them.

“I can get a van and pick you up tonight,” he told Aziz. It had become clear that unless he acted now it would be too late. He wasn't sure what he could actually do but he knew if he got them to his place they would have a bit longer before they were sent to the rumoured ghettos. He couldn't ask anyone for advice because you didn't know who UKIP's informers were, the lack of goods and food available since currency collapse made people do terrible things. He thought to himself, naively, that he could pretend he didn't know they were living in his cellar.

Julian Deverell was UKIP's Bath
Parliamentary candidate
Fuel was very scarce and very expensive, much of it was stolen from the Americans and sold on the black market. As a result, borrowing vehicles was easy as the owners had little use for them, they just wanted a bit of fuel left in as payment. Gary had trudged to the owner's house with a jerry can on a supermarket trolley, a common site now as so many vehicles ran out of fuel so he didn't look out of place. And there were crowds of people on the streets now, bigger than ever before, that he could hide in as there was no-one to drive the buses or trains, not that there was much fuel or electricity for them either.

Once he had fuelled and picked up the van he drove to Aziz's house, the roads were pretty clear and he had to be careful as vehicles were conspicuous. He was lucky tonight though as the police were engaged in two major riots, between themselves. Whilst many supported the new regime, others were horrified at what they were being told to do and were attempting to stop colleagues collaborating. He could see the odd Christmas tree in windows, lit by candles as power cuts to conserve supplies were in force; the Russians had cut gas supplies to the UK's power stations. People didn't mind though as they'd been told by the Daily Mail and Express that Muslim terrorists were cutting the supplies in order to prevent Christmas lights being turned on, and many who believed this stood up for their Christmas, as the Daily Mail had asked them to do in its 'Stand up for Christmas' campaign, with candles given away with each copy, resulting in an epidemic of house fires.

The pubs were shut too after right-wing Christian fundamentalist groups, backed by their American cousins, were allied with UKIP resulting in alcohol, the 'devil's buttermilk', being frowned upon. UKIP officials were ok though, they could get their supplies of drink at home undisturbed by the burgeoning number of shouting pastors now turning up in the UK. The Sun was blaming the EU, with claims of bans of alcohol exports to the UK. Sun readers forgot that we used to make most of it ourselves.

Aziz had his family ready and, under cover of darkness now that so few street lights worked, he was able to get them into the van. Atul was not so easy as he lived near a UKIP councillor's house and the street was lit like Wembley Stadium had been in better times at night games, so the councillor felt safe. Nevertheless, the transfer went as planned.

“Lucky the councillor didn't see you,” said Gary.

“Not lucky at all for him,” said Atul. “Anish was easy to pick up by UKIP as he thought he was one of theirs. He was taken days ago.”

Gary was always on tenterhooks about having the families hiding below him but he couldn't have lived with the guilt had he not done anything. The penalties were severe for hiding people, prison at best, often with a charge of sexual offences added on so even friends stood back and perpetrators were truly cut off in the most humiliating way from even those that might have supported them. And it was the single people that did it, who were not frightened for repercussions on their families, so trumped-up charges of sexual offences stuck even more easily.

The biggest challenge was getting enough food. He could always spot those in the same position as him, always carrying around tins and packets of food whilst clearly losing weight themselves. Friends and colleagues not in a position to hide people would silently give what they could spare, having realised what was going on, without asking. The state's operatives, rarely the sharpest tools in the box, seldom spotted anything.

One evening at about 7pm, there was a knock on the door. Gary wasn't expecting anyone. He looked out of an upstairs window and could see one man on his own, not a group of policemen that he would expect if he were going going to be raided. If it was someone official they would only come back he thought, so he decided to open the door. As he did so he saw Shirley across the street looking out of her bedroom window. “Shit,” he thought, he knew Shirley had been a UKIP activist before the coup. A facepainter and UKIP activist, how jolly, no doubt she'd snitched on him. The world had gone mad. A face painter could have sentenced him and his friends.

It was a man in his mid-30s on his doorstep.

“Quickly, let me in,” he said.

Gary let him in. There was no slamming the door in his face, that would have been an invitation for his house to be searched, forcibly. The man walked through Gary's house like he owned it and asked Gary to sit down, in his own house.

“I won't stay long,” said the man. “I know you're hiding people here.”

Gary froze. The man put his hand on Gary's arm.

“It's ok mate, you're one of us. You didn't know it but you are.”

“Who are you?” asked Gary.

“I'm a primary school teacher,” said the man. “Who'll soon be redundant if they pick up any more of my kids.”

“How did you know about me?”

“We have ears and eyes everywhere, and in the most unexpected places.”

“What do you want?”

“The kids, I'm going to get them away.”

Gary was pleased to hear this. But his anger that the UK had come to this would never subside.

“What about the adults?” he asked.

“I can't help them. They can stay here with you or take their chances elsewhere,” said the teacher. “Let me speak to them.”

Gary let him into the cellar and he heard low voices and sobbing. After 15 minutes the man emerged.

“Expect someone round tomorrow,” he said. “Leave it all to them. Don't ask any questions.”And he disappeared into the night. Shirley's curtains twitched, he saw her face momentarily. It wasn't suspicious having a mate drop round yet was it? Maybe she thought he was gay? That wasn't allowed anymore, well it was if you were a party member and didn't go around in drag. Gary had a momentary rush of adrenaline; he didn't care what Shirley did, he was doing the right thing. He would get the kids out, no matter what.

The next day he realised he couldn't go to work, not if he was expecting someone to come for the kids, he would have to let them in. It was like the old days he thought, when you'd wait in for a delivery or a repair person, or a delivery. None of that happened now. Work didn't matter anyway, it was hard to call in as the phones never worked now, and no-one much cared if someone didn't turn up.

A knock at the door. He jumped up, ran upstairs and looked out to see who it was. It was Shirley. What could she possibly want? He ran down and opened the door. She had a small briefcase with her.

“You going to let me in?” she asked.

“Er, no,” said Gary. “I'm busy.”

“I know you have been,” said Shirley. “But you won't be anymore. Let me in, I've a job to do.” Shirley pushed her way in. “Where are they?” she asked. Jesus, thought Gary, I can't give them up now, so close to getting them away.

“I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about,” he said.

“Don't fuck about Gary, the teacher sent me,” she said. Gary realised he'd been tricked. But why in this convoluted fashion? Why didn't they just send the police or the EDL thugs they used for this stuff now?

“Cellar or attic?” she asked. He wouldn't answer. “OK, cellar then,” she said, and opened the door and marched down.

“Don't follow me,” she shouted back up to him.

He heard voices. He didn't know what he expected to hear next, but he didn't expect laughter. The sound of children laughing, a beautiful sound.and it went on for an hour, delighted shrieks of happiness, he couldn't imagine what was going on. And then the sound of footsteps coming out of the cellar. Children with their faces painted, beautifully painted, a tiger, a cat and a dog. Their parents, picking them up with tears of joy.

“Enjoy the party!” They said. And hugged their children like they were never going to see them again.

There was another knock at the door, Shirley opened it and ushered the kids out. There was a minibus outside with more kids on it. White kids, looking curiously at the facepainted kids. The teacher was waiting at the door to the minibus and the kids climbed and the minibus left.

“Expect the unexpected,” said Shirley. And she and her case went back to her house. Gary looked after her, confused. He turned around to see Atul and Aziz comforting their sobbing wives, as he shut the door, the men broke down too.

“Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” asked Gary.

“They're going to Calais,” said Atul. “They'll be looked after there, we couldn't look after them, we don't even know what will happen to us...”

On further questioning it appeared that the French had set up a camp in Calais to look after kids from Britain whom the Government considered didn't fit in.  The French, of course, along with the Germans, Dutch and others, had turned away from Le Pen, Wilders and Meuthen once they saw what had happened to Britain, and in a turn around from history, British kids were being sent there for their safety. The teacher took kids on trips to Margate, Broadstairs and Ramsgate, where those disguised by face-painting or other means could be spirited away by boat in a new spirit of Dunkirk, the other way around.

Atul, Aziz and their wives refused to go back into the cellar and said they would rather chance finding a way to their kids than spend the rest of their lives hiding, risking Gary's freedom too. They spent one last night sleeping in comfort in Gary's bedroom and his spare room and in the morning opened the front door and left.

They had only been gone five minutes when Gary, on an impulse, ran after them. He saw them up the road being jeered at and hooted at by cars, whilst some people confronted those jeering and hooting. He ran up to them, and begged them to come back. But they turned their backs on him and walked up to a police car: “We're offended by Christmas,” they said to the policeman inside.

Happy Christmas